


Civil Blood

by rivlee



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Organized Crime, Prompt Fill, Spartacus Reverse Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 14:25:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron Jansen retired from the Marines and found work as a contract killer. His latest job is proving to be far from simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil Blood

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Mentions of rape and murder that occur off-screen.  
>  **Notes:** Based off the lovely artwork by Max Dasuki seen [here](http://rebel-generals.tumblr.com/post/54422197544/for-spartacus-reverse-big-bang-art-prompt). The character of Georgie is semi-inspired by Cosima Niehaus from _Orphan Black_. Special thanks to gaygreekgladiator and janoda for providing beta duties. Any mistakes still in the text are completely my own. A special thanks to amorekay for handholding/talking me down from the fanfic cliff, and all those who have supported and spread the word for the SRBB, its artists, and its writers.  
>  **Note Two:** This is an extremely loose interpretation of the Mafia in America from an outsider's pov. It’s also an extremely loose interpretation of Marine snipers. Don’t take anything herein as true to fact. (Except for the thing about pineapples being evil.)

Agron Jansen started his career in a legitimate arena, being trained to kill in the official capacity for the flag rather than for his own profit. He’d joined the United States Marine Corps straight out of high school and came out of his service a highly-rated Scout Sniper. He didn’t re-up after his contract expired, feeling the need to stay home and help his brother out with his new family, and his sister with her higher education, so he went private. It wasn’t uncommon these days to find the private contractor market literally flooded with men and women like him; trained to kill and finding it difficult to adjust to civilian life. It wasn’t _impossible_ to leave the war for a day job slinging fast food or working as a bank teller, or hell, going back to college, but that life wasn’t for everyone. Agron was never good at standing down. His last psych eval had a lot to say on his need to refrain from putting down roots; of living life goals vicariously through his younger siblings. It’s not like the higher-ups in the country turned a blind eye to all the trained killers they’d cut loose to civilian life; the United States still remained his most common employer for hits, even if the contracts came through off-shore shell corporations. 

He didn’t expect the time sniffing around the market and sifting through offers would bring him _here_ , stuck in his nest for what looked like the long haul, waiting to add some collateral damage to a mafia boss’ personal life. There was a whole different set of risks that came with taking a contract against the mob. The jobs were usually kept within their own community; to tap an outsider like Agron without any attempts to introduce him to any of the family members here in the Northeast meant it was being done without blanket approval of the biggest bosses. The official name behind the contract still remained a mystery, though Agron didn’t bother to question that this one time. He usually liked to know more of the people who were paying him to kill, but the money was damn good. The payday was the kind that made questions disappear, and if his nieces and nephews kept in line with family genetics, there were at least three sets of braces to help cover in the future. 

Agron shifted and pulled out his night vision goggles to watch his target walk around the small terrace garden as he snuck a nighttime smoke. Snipers were trained to be patient. If you couldn’t stay still, ignoring all that was around you, to focus on your target for days or weeks at a time, you weren’t cut out for the position. Agron wasn’t born with patience, but he was determined and eventually learned through the rough, but caring, lessons of his officers. He still didn’t know how Gunnery Sergeant Knight didn’t bash his head through a wall during those early years. 

It took Agron two tries to pass Sniper School due to that patience problem when it came to a practice they called stalking. He was too obvious in the brush and on the ground, too eager to finish and get to the final phase, and so he was found that first time. He learned his lesson, amidst all the jokes about understanding foreplay, tested again, and wasn’t found on the second trial. Years and a career change later, he now thanked God and his Gunny for suggesting he sign-up for that Urban Snipers course. He doubted both would’ve guessed he’d be using those lessons outside of a war zone and a uniform. 

Agron took another slow breath as he watched his target flick ashes into a flowerpot. There were other lessons learned long ago that he had to remind himself of with this job. For snipers, be it in the Corps, Army Rangers, Navy, police force, hired guns, whatever, there was always a real concern of identifying with the target. A sniper had to learn the target’s habits, mannerisms, and daily routines. What they ate when they were stressed out; what movies they watched when they needed to laugh; how often they changed their outfit before picking the final one for the day. There was always the risk that the sniper would identify _too_ much with the target, and when the time came, couldn’t take the shot. All snipers feared that moment, and all knew it was going to happen one day. It’s what kept them human after all; it was hard not to feel the pull of human contact when you were alone, tired, usually cold, and often days without communication. The worldview became the wind around you and the sight through your scope. Agron had yet to meet a target he couldn’t shake off as just another mission, though he knew his days were numbered. 

Marcus Crassus had the unfortunate luck of being named after a famous historical figure, but with the attitude, money, and power to rise above any two-bit thief’s taunts. He was ruthless in a way that hadn’t been seen in La Cosa Nostra for years; the type of man who would sacrifice his own family to rise in the ranks. Agron almost felt bad for the fucker; there was no way the heads would let him in if they saw that disrespect for blood. Crassus was more concerned with power than familial propriety, and that had already pissed off someone associated with the Old Guard enough to get Agron hired. Scuttlebutt had it that he’d pissed off the most influential of the new bosses, The Kid Butcher, Magnus Pompeo. Agron wouldn’t be surprised if _he_ was the one who issued the hit. 

Agron hadn’t received the order to take out Crassus yet, just to go after the two people who brought him the most comfort. Kore Lesy had been the first to go; a pretty girl with dark hair and a sharp mind who had the good sense to be easily persuaded by the tantalizing promise of Witness Protection before Agron had to make a fatal intervention. The other target wasn’t anywhere near as easy.

Nasir Hariri was already paranoid enough from the attempted grabs to deport him by three different government agencies trying to bring Crassus down. The fucking Feds always fucked everything up. It didn’t matter to them that the young man was a legitimate citizen; someone would find a way to get his papers forged and his ass booted back to Kuwait. He was Syrian by birth, but his family had fled more than one country on a bid to freedom far from the hell that men like Agron had rained down upon them. 

It made Agron pause some days, when he was staring at Nasir down his scope, to wonder if he’d invaded the birth home of Nasir’s parents. If he’d trampled on the doorstep of his childhood home during a push for liberation in the name of Western-approved democracy. It didn’t seem right that a man who’d done nothing but crawl into the wrong bed for protection was due to die this way, but if you fucked a Mafioso you had to know what was coming. No one was safe in those crossfires, or from the men themselves, as Crassus’ wife could’ve told you if she wasn’t already dead, buried, and hidden. 

The intel Mira had gathered said Nasir was smart; high IQ with a tendency toward analytical thinking. Crassus paid to send him to the Ivy Leagues, obviously grooming him for some greater purpose than a convenient fuck with a pretty face. Nasir had never bothered to run, even with ample opportunity, deals, and immunity spread out before him. He stayed with Crassus even after Kore left, and she’d clearly been in love with the man. Agron couldn’t wrap his head around _why_. Crassus had actually marked Nasir as his property with a stark tattoo on the back of his neck. It was the official Crassus Family Monogram. Nothing that could be found on fancy cardstock company stationary should’ve been in someone’s skin. It wasn’t like Agron’s Globe and Anchor, a mark of brotherhood made out of a _choice_ to serve for a higher purpose; it was like a fucking actual dog tag, with _Please Return to Owner If Found_.

The thought of it was enough to make Agron want to take Crassus out just for the hell of it; orders be damned. 

Agron shifted his leg as he balanced his rifle against the window. He took a deep breath and watched Nasir again, even though he didn’t have a clear shot. There were too many people on the roof the next building over having some late-summer party. The winds were ready to rip the flags off their poles, which meant lack of ideal conditions. The red ribbon that tied Nasir’s hair back kept coming undone and fucked with Agron’s conviction, a flapping piece of fabric that reminded him of his nieces. It would’ve been too much collateral damage if Agron tried now, so he’d just keep waiting for the next chance. 

He was man enough to admit he was making all the excuses in the world. 

It was only the years of training that made him stay still when his phone’s alert suddenly went off. He carefully picked it up, hoping to keep the light hidden from any possibly prying eyes, and frowned at the one-word message that greeted him.

**_ABORT_ **

*****************

“Something’s not right,” Agron said after he left his post that night. He’d cleared out the nest and stopped by his favorite 24-hour drive thru to bribe Mira and Aurelia with baked goods and decent salads. Ever since he’d received the order to stand-down and abort the mission, his suspicions had risen. A Kill Order was only called off if mistakes were made, or identities were uncertain. Agron hadn’t been in this business long enough to know the protocols for when a hit was temporarily put on hold, but he sure as shit knew the fallout from an op getting scrubbed.

“You kill people for a living,” Mira said as she dove into her salad. “The general principle of your employment is not right.”

“But this is different,” Agron argued. He batted her hand away when she tried to swipe his bacon bits. “I saw him at a café three days ago with Laeta Grisolia; she’s a Confidential Informant for the FBI. I know she is, because I know how to do my job. Why would he be meeting with her if he had no plans of turning on Crassus?” 

“Does Crassus know she’s a CI? I thought she was just one of those well-known mob wives,” Aurelia said. Like Mira she had started work on the more legal side of information processing before her husband got framed by a precinct of dirty cops and she’d gone underground to avenge him. She started the firm Mira worked for, and allowed Agron to pay off any service fees in manual labor and babysitting. 

He studied the tired lines of her face as she flipped through the stack of folders in front of them. Aurelia was young, younger than him, but had two kids and the weight of the world on her shoulders. She was damn good at her work though, and she’d handpicked Mira. Agron wished life had treated her and hers different, but he was one of the many who benefitted from all the shit she’d survived.

“Laeta Grisolia is also high up in the city’s society charity donation circles. It makes more sense for Nasir to speak with her, possibly organizing an event for Crassus’ good will, than anyone else. Laeta’s always been known as the wife to actually achieve something with her parties. Unlike Lucretia Batiatus who only manages drunken debauchery while trying to get her husband secured as a _capo_ ,”Aurelia said.

“Which is why their branch is only high enough to collect loan payments,” Mira muttered. There was no love lost between Mira and the Batiatus family. She’d worked for them once, years ago, a young girl needing a simple job that was just supposed to involve dog-walking. Mira never spoke of what truly went on in that house, but Agron knew she had a whole plan for burning it to the ground and salting the earth after it was nothing but ashes. 

“I still think it’s worth looking into,” Agron said. “Something in my gut tells me there’s more to this than we know.”

Mira and Aurelia exchanged a glance, before Mira shook her head. “You know it’s been proven that gut reactions are usually the wrong ones.”

“Until it’s proven by and with Marines, I’ll relay on the trained instincts which have seen me through two wars, thanks,” Agron said. He purposefully chomped down on his lettuce to emphasize his point.

In retrospect, he probably deserved the pelting with balled up napkins. 

***********************

Agron didn’t like to bother Duro, Diona, and the kids, so when he needed a place to crash that wasn’t his own apartment, he sought out Georgina. She was the youngest of them, following Duro by seven minutes exactly, and remained the most academic of the three siblings. She still had a decent right hook and a damn fine roundhouse kick, but where Duro was taken by machines, and Agron with the military, Georgina had discovered forensics. She wanted to be a paleontologist when they were kids, then an archaeologist, before she finally discovered forensics in high school and started consuming books on osteology. 

Unlike Duro who would spend five hours questioning him out of worry, Georgina just gave him a pair of sweats and guided him towards the futon. He fell asleep to the sound of her typing and shuffling papers, preparing for some final exam for whatever degree she was currently finishing. He’d lost track after the third one, and as proud as he was and remained, she knew to just smile indulgently and pat his head when his eyes started to glaze over during one of her explanations. 

He woke to the smell of frying hash and the screeching beep of the smoke detector.

“Smartest girl in the world and yet can’t figure out how not to burn toast,” he complained to Bob the cat. He got a small meow of agreement that felt like a victory.

“I like it burnt,” Georgina yelled from the kitchen. Her hair was piled messily on top of her head, her glasses being the only force keeping the bangs out of her face. She grinned at him, looking exactly like Duro, nose ring and all, as she set a plate down with a bottle of ketchup.

“Why are you so happy this morning?” he asked.

Her eyes almost fucking glowed. “Research grant came through.” She slid into her own seat and stuck her cold toes under Agron’s thigh. “I’ll probably have to travel for it, but it could allow me to take that internship in Hawaii.”

“I thought if sand got into your circuitry you stopped working,” he teased.

She stuck her tongue out at him. “That’s Duro, asshole.” 

It was a nice, soothing silence as they ate, even with the smell of burnt bread in the air. Bob fell asleep over Agron’s feet and Georgina hummed some 90s power rock ballad as she paged through an article on her iPad. 

“Diona wants to know if she can expect you for Amelia and Lanie’s softball game on Saturday,” she said. 

“How do you know?” he asked through a mouthful of food. 

“Pig,” she said with a pair of perfectly rolled eyes. “She e-mailed me. When you told Duro you were crashing here, we all know that’s code for taking a break while on a job. She just didn’t know if you could get away or not. Amelia wants her best cheerleader there.”

“She’s going to be a pro ballplayer one day,” he said with pride. He looked down at his plate as he pushed his food around. “I can’t make any promises, Georgie. Maybe next week. God knows I want to be there, but something’s odd about this job.”

She just snorted as she contained to read her article. “As opposed to the regular odd of killing people for money?”

“It’s what the government trained and paid me to do while in uniform,” he said, repeating the old arguments. “No, this one is fucked up somehow. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will.”

Georgina looked up at him then, concern wrinkling her brow. “You’re not a cop, or a private investigator, or anything like that, Agron. Don’t stick your nose in where it shouldn’t be and get it blown off. We kind of like you alive and shit.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. 

She shook her head and gave the sigh of the long-suffering. “If you die, Diona will bring you back to life repeatedly just to kill you again all for Duro’s sake.”

“Just for Duro’s sake?” he asked.

Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Eh, Bob would probably miss you too.”

******************

Maxwell Donar was an old friend he met while working a job in a country that ended in –stan at a time when no American military presence had a right to be there. It was hard not to bond with a guy in the middle of nowhere mountains they were stranded in, freezing their balls off as they traded stories of life back home. Donar was career military, a proud grunt who could never see his life anywhere else. Even if they hadn’t been at least two active wars to fight at the time, Agron knew Donar would’ve joined the military anyway. Some people were just born with the mindset of the warrior, and had to find an occupation that could pay them and legally train them to _actually_ be all they could be.

He’d asked Donar to look into things, since he had more legitimate channels to navigate than Agron. He never expected much of a result, but when Donar sent him back a message that basically came down to _the call came from inside the house_ , Agron knew he couldn’t just let this one go. It was one thing for a rival family to take a contract out for a personal vendetta; it was a complete other for someone inside Crassus’ own home to do it. The intrigue was enough to get Aurelia and Mira both fully back on board. Agron was firmly back in his own recon mode, using skills that returned just like muscle memory. If he gathered enough legitimate evidence he could turn it over to Donar who would know where to take it to see some action done. 

Whatever else Nasir might’ve done in his life, he didn’t deserve to be killed by a stranger hired by the family he got fucking tattooed and branded like cattle for. 

“What’re you stalking for justice, now?” Duro asked.

Agron thanked the Corp for his training again, since it was the only thing that kept him from shooting his own asshole brother in that moment. “How many goddamned times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on an armed person?”

Duro kicked aside a stack of folders and a bag of fast-food wrappers as he made a space to sit down. “I stomped up the stairs and called your name twice. You’re off in la-la land.” He grabbed Agron’s set of binoculars and looked towards the street. He scanned around until he found something that caught his attention. He smirked at Agron as he tossed the binoculars back at him. “You always had a thing for long hair.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Agron mumbled. He didn’t want to bother with his own interrogation about just how Duro knew what Nasir looked like; he doubted he really wanted to know. It meant Georgina had been her typically curious self when it came to Agron’s work. 

“You normally don’t get this involved,” Duro said. He tapped his knuckles against the windowsill as he looked out over the city block below. “What’s so special about this one?”

Agron wished he could put it into words. It wasn’t that he so much saw himself in the target, it just didn’t seem _fair_. 

“Even contract killers like me have to stick to their own code, little brother. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like someone inside Nasir’s own family, so to speak, lacking the balls to handle this themselves. They hired a complete stranger to do the job, and then called it off? Why the fuck would they do that?”

“Cold feet?” Duro asked. Displeasure pinched around the corners of his mouth. “I mean, I don’t know how you can ever contemplate having someone else killed, much less hiring a person for it, but I think I’d back out even if I went as far as to put money down.”

“Yeah, well, you have a stupid big heart,” Agron said. He leaned forward to watch Nasir fuss with the paper on the table before him. The wind was tearing at the magazine, and that fucking loose ribbon in Nasir’s hair. It was funny to watch him try and fight nature for the chance to enjoy his reading and lunch outside. 

“Well, fuck, that explains it,” Duro said. He shook his head and looked to the ceiling. “Why, God, why did you have to let Aurelia be right? Just this one time, could she have not been wrong?”

“What the hell are you babbling about?” he asked. He shifted under Duro’s knowing gaze. “I’m _not_ in love with him, okay. I’m not one of _those_ guys.”

“No, fine, not love, or whatever,” Duro said. “That’d be kind of weird since you’ve never spoken to the guy, but you’ve got to admit there’s some infatuation going on here. Just don’t go all _Rear Window_ , okay? We could probably afford the defense lawyers, but I’d rather not see what the mob would do to us.”

“Deal,” Agron said, holding his hand out for their typical shake. Duro took it with a grunt and tried his best to break Agron’s wrist. Agron won in the end, but it was a close thing. 

“Get out of here, Agron. Go back to Georgie’s and get some sleep. For the love of god, take a shower. If you’re not there for the girls’ game, I will drag you down to the field myself, stealth be damned. I don’t think you’re going to learn anything new watching pretty boy daintily eat a sandwich that’s probably as much as my weekly paycheck.”

Duro had adopted that playful tone that meant his words must be taken as a command. Agron smiled in agreement, knowing that he’d eventually leave before dawn, but he had to stay here for a bit longer. There was something he noticed yesterday that he wanted confirmed before he took his next step.

“I’ll be at Georgie’s by breakfast, cross my heart,” Agron swore. 

Duro snorted, but stood, dusting his hands off on his grey cargo pants. “Remember, I will _drag_ you out of here. Then I’ll set Diona on you. And just so you know how fucked we all think you are, because I’d like you to keep this in mind before you inevitably do something completely boneheaded, Donar told me where to find you.” 

“I’ll deal with that rat bastard traitor at a later date,” he told Duro as he left. Agron waited for the echoing sound of footsteps on the stairs to disappear before he resumed his study of Nasir.

Unless Agron had it wrong, someone else was trailing Nasir these days. He was a young man, always dressed in that fashion conscious way that screamed money. He wasn’t connected to any of the families that Agron knew of in the area, and he stood out with his wide smile and obvious charm. Subtlety wasn’t part of his M.O., not that it was Agron’s strong suit either, but there was doing a job, and then the fucking stupidity of hitting on Marcus Crassus’ _boy_ on the man’s turf. To be perfectly fucking honest, _stupidity_ didn’t even begin to cover it; _suicidal_ was the better word. 

Agron had to wonder if his contract had been terminated and sold elsewhere without his knowledge. The new guy easily fit-in with the street sophistication of that city quarter, but even with the obvious flirtation, something about him just pinged _military_ in Agron’s mind. He decided to swap his rifle scope for a camera sight as his new friend emerged from one of the nicer apartment buildings. If he got enough photos, from enough angles, it should be sufficient for Aurelia and Mira to hopefully get a positive identification. Agron wanted a name for that smug face. 

*****************

“The only name we’ve uncovered is Castus,” Mira said as she handed Agron a print out. “We don’t know if it’s a code name, a first or last name, a legit alias, or a false flag. It’s how he introduced himself to your favorite mob wife, Laeta.”

“From what we were able to find, he’s a freelancer,” Aurelia said. “He normally works with the Greeks, and has associated with Heracleo’s crew, before he sought our shores. He has mostly operated in Central Europe and Northern Africa, with a few side trips to Turkey, Lebanon and the like. No terrorists ties, but I wouldn’t put Antiquities theft past him. He’s fluent in at least six languages, English, French, and Arabic among them. That’s all I could dig out of my Interpol contact.”

“How is Sura?” Agron asked. He was impressed by what they’d all managed to uncover in less than a day and it was obvious they’d had some outside help via an organization like Interpol. 

“Ready to get out of London,” Aurelia replied. “She loves it there, but she misses her husband. She won’t divulge his location, so don’t even ask.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Agron teased. He ducked Aurelia’s playful swat as he studied the paper in his hand. It wasn’t much, but it was worlds more than he had before.

“What’re you going to do?” Mira asked, clearly more out of curiosity than concern.

Agron grinned at her in response. 

Aurelia shook her head. “Give me at least three hours to work some financial accounts. God knows what your bail will be if you get caught.” 

Agron batted his lashes at her, aiming for the puppy dog innocence Diona swore he could pull off if he really tried. “Now, Aurelia, I’m just going to have a talk with him.” 

“And a brick wall,” Mira muttered under her breath. 

*********************

It was good to know certain combat moves never really left him. When Agron cornered Castus in an alley way, he really should’ve anticipated the punch. He had height and bulk on his side though, even though just the glancing blow told him Castus wasn’t a lightweight. It was easy enough to get his arms locked, and Agron wasn’t gentle when he shoved Castus into the crumbling brick wall. 

“Who the hell do you work for?” Agron asked as he turned Castus around. He laid his forearm over Castus’ windpipe with just enough pressure that he could still speak, but not that he could get away. Castus had a piece under his jacket, Agron guessed a SIG Sauer, standard for someone dealing with law enforcement. He applied just that much more pressure as his confusion met with frustration. 

Castus didn’t struggle in Agron’s hold now. He remained calm, almost stoic, as his gaze shifted to the entrance of the alleyway. Agron didn’t fall for it, refused to move his eyes from Castus’ own. He could drop Castus and grab his sidearm if he had to, but Agron would rather refrain from bringing the cops this close to Crassus’ den. There would be too many questions, and then he’d never get his answers. 

“Fucking Snipers,” an old, familiar voice growled. 

Agron increased the pressure on Castus’ throat and turned his head just enough to meet the disgusted glare of retired Lieutenant Commander Crixus, Navy SEALs. Fucking sailors had to screw with everything. 

“I see Naevia hasn’t helped to dislodge that mop stick stuck so fucking firmly up your ass that lump in your throat is the handle,” Agron said. He never liked Crixus, hated dealing with him on the handful of BlackOp missions his old commander Oenomaus assigned them to because they were the best in their fields. As far as Agron was concerned, Crixus could take a header off a sharp cliff into iceberg infested waters any day of the goddamned year.

“Agron, let the poor man go,” a much more welcome voice ordered. 

Agron loosened his grip as he nodded at Spartacus, but he didn’t let Castus go. “Sparty, the wife misses you.”

“I see Aurelia’s working with you again,” Spartacus commented. He looked pleased to see Agron, even as he waved Crixus off. “I didn’t think you did pro bono work though. Why stick with a mark after a contract’s been called off?”

“I don’t know, why ruin any sense of professional integrity by working with fucking Crixus of all assholes in the Navy?” Agron shot back. 

“Sometimes the best man for the job is a complete jackass,” Spartacus countered. He looked far too amused as he stopped at Agron’s side. “Come on; let me buy you a beer. Crixus can take poor Castus here back to his room for a pants change. You really do have a way with introductions.”

If it was anyone other than Spartacus, Agron would probably refuse, but they had a mutual respect and relationship from saving each other’s lives. Spartacus had always been CIA, and one of the few assholes Agron could deal with in that organization. If he was getting involved in domestic matters, it would explain why he’d paired up with Crixus, who had sold his soul to the FBI. 

Hell, the alleyway was like a fucking reunion. If they trotted out Gannicus in the next second, Agron wouldn’t have been surprised. He’d even lead the round of _Hey, Hey, the Gang’s All Here_. When he spotted Rhaskos lingering near the alleyway he almost lost it.

“Getting the band back together?” he asked Spartacus as they walked past.

“We’re on a mission from God,” Spartacus quipped. 

The beer turned out to be a decent scotch, and it was sign enough that Agron was about to hear something he didn’t want to know. Spartacus always tried to lighten the blow with good booze. 

“So, why are you here?” Agron asked. “I know it’s not to sell tins of popcorn.”

“Amusing,” Spartacus countered with a short laugh. “I could ask you the same thing. Why still bother tracking a man you’re no longer being paid to kill? One, I am guessing, you had no real intention of killing in the first place.”

“Oh, I had the intention,” Agron argued. “If I wasn’t worried about collateral damage, I could’ve done so weeks ago. I just don’t like it when my job is terminated pre-services rendered, or finding out the offer originated in the target’s own home.” He pushed his glass to the side and studied Spartacus. “But you already knew that.”

He shrugged. “Laeta Grisolia is an old friend. She had her suspicions about Nasir Hariri after first meeting him. I trust her instincts, and she only got more unsettled once she found out Marcus Crassus himself arranged the contract.”

“Why?” Agron asked. It made no sense. If Crassus wanted to kill someone, so personally, he could’ve easily done it himself. “Unless Nasir has some unknown connection with another family, it’s pointless. It’s impersonal in a way Crassus is not.”

“He does favor somewhat unpredictable action,” Spartacus explained. “I agree with you, though. It’s why our taskforce got involved. Homeland Security and all that. They hand them out like pamphlets these days. I don’t think we’ll find anything pertinent to our goals though. Hariri doesn’t seem anything more than a wrong place, wrong time type of kid. He doesn’t work for one of the alphabets as far as we know.”

A deep cover then, a very deep one. “You think he’s a legend?” 

Spartacus shrugged. “I think he’s in a deep cover that stands up to even the harshest of checks. He set up at least one false background that we know of, but the second one holds steady. Castus was trying to get close to him, but has seen little return.”

Agron nodded. “Nasir is a master of polite deflection.”

“You might have a better chance of breaking it,” Spartacus said. 

“I’ve never even spoken to him, outside of a casual passing in the street,” Agron said. Even that had been risky, but he wanted to be sure he had the right target at the time. 

“I think you might’ve been watched in return,” Spartacus said. He threw a couple bills on the table as he stood to leave. “Crassus wasn’t the one to terminate that contract. The call for that came from inside the house as well, but not from the man himself.” He patted Agron’s shoulder. “Go home, get some sleep, for the love of god, shave. In the morning you’ll be making contact.”

“Oh, will I?” Agron asked as he felt his brows inch towards his hairline.

“Check your e-mail; you’ve been officially hired by the United States Government again. Semper Fi.” 

“Fucking bastard,” Agron called after him. 

********************

It probably said something about their family that his parents’ living room was still referred to as the War Room, but fuck it, he needed opinions. The kids were all in bed, cartons of Chinese food were scattered around the room, and Diona had set-up the dry erase board with the columns of _Domestic_ and _Foreign_. Duro and Diona’s voices were more a soothing buzz than a distraction as Agron paced in front of them. 

“What kind of sick fuck uses a proxy to take out a hit on his own lover? I mean it’s fucking Marcus fucking Crassus. Everyone knows he’s a ruthless asshole, so why even bother hiding it?” Duro asked. He perfectly mirrored Agron’s own thoughts, but they only had eight more hours until Agron had to make first contact. 

“Because Nasir may be connected with someone higher-up than Crassus and he’s afraid of what will happen if word gets out that he was the one to set up the contract,” Agron explained. “It could be why someone else called off the hit, but if Crassus is still expecting Nasir to get shot, why hasn’t he contacted me yet?”

“Maybe someone tapped your phone?” Diona asked. “Or they hacked it and are re-routing calls. They can do that, right?”

“So illegal,” Duro said.

“Your brother kills people for money,” Diona shot back. She smiled at Agron as she said it. “Though, admittedly, he tends to stick with only killing the really bad ones.”

“Oh, are we playing justifiable murder again?” Georgina asked as she bounced into the room. “Have I missed the vigilante justice argument?”

“Not yet,” Diona said. “I’ll go make popcorn for that one.”

Georgie high-fived her as she passed, before tossing a USB drive at Agron’s head. “That’s all I could dig up without raising any red flags. Aurelia could probably do a better job, but for some odd reason you didn’t ask her.”

“I don’t want her or Janus or Aurora’s names near this if my hunch is wrong. That family has already been through enough shit.”

“And ours hasn’t?” she asked as she adjusted her glasses. “You joined the fucking Marines to keep food on our table, Agron. You became a contracted killer to help pay for my education and Duro and Diona’s mess of kids. Eventually even _you_ have to learn to be selfish, bro.”

Duro nodded along with their sister. “Basically, you need a vacation after this bullshit blows over.”

“And to get laid,” Georgie said.

“Desperately,” Diona agreed as she entered with her popcorn. She settled down between Georgie and Duro before she focused back on Agron. “You don’t really think Nasir’s involved with anyone higher up in the mob though. You have sour-lemon face. That means Local Law Enforcement.”

“Fuck, you think he’s a cop,” Duro said. 

Agron tilted his head to Georgie who just grinned as she grabbed a handful of popcorn and started to talk. “I think _21 Jump Street_ might exist as plausible deniability or something. He may have gone to college here, but he’s older than he looks. He was a peace officer in Hawaii with an uncle who worked for the FBI field office there.”

“Fucking Hawaii again,” Duro muttered. “It’s not enough that state’s trying to take my sister, now it’s sending its cops out into the ether. I blame the pineapples. That fruit is fucking evil.”

Diona patted his hand. “You done, babe?”

Duro nodded and gestured at the board. “How’d he get from there to here? There’s kind of an ocean and the continental United States in the way.”

“Well, he clearly didn’t swim,” Aurelia said. She closed the front door with purpose, Mira, holding Aurora and Janus’ hands, stood behind her. “Agron, really, you call a council without me? I’m insulted.”

“Who told you?” he asked. 

Georgie squeaked. “Look, I’m not a hacker okay. I needed help getting past some things. You should’ve called her first anyway.”

Aurelia nodded in agreement as Mira took the kids upstairs. “If you had bothered to return any one of my last ten calls, you would know that I found the information before Georgie did. You would know that Nasir was a peace officer at the same time with a young woman named Chadara Estes. You would know that Chadara is a bastard daughter of the Grisolia family. You would also know that Marcus Crassus’ own son was found with Chadara’s body in his bed, where she’d been choked to death. He got the best lawyers in the country and wound up with community service. She got buried in a graveyard thousands of miles from her home with a headstone put up by Laeta Grisolia's own charity. You would know that Nasir Hariri himself may very well be on a vengeance mission.”

“He could’ve killed Crassus plenty of times by now if he wanted to,” Duro argued.

“He doesn’t want to kill him,” Agron said, suddenly understanding. “He wants to destroy everything the man has built; everything’s he’s worked for, his entire legacy. You can only do that from the inside, deep on the inside, with a level of trust only reserved for a close lover. If Crassus has any clue of who he is, no wonder he took the contract out.”

“Then why hasn’t he killed him yet?” Diona asked.

“Because Crassus needs to know just who, and how many agencies, are watching him. My guess? By now? Practically all of them,” Aurelia said. 

**********************

Agron had many memorable first encounter stories to share with the class, but he never expected Nasir to back him up into a wall and grab a hold of his dick.

“Hmm,” Nasir said, “that action is usually met with a string of expletives and an attempt at a thrown punch.”

“Have you looked in a mirror ever?” Agron asked. He could feel the cool metal of a blade pressed low on his belly. If nothing else, he had to give Nasir credit for successfully concealing his weapons. “So, tell me, how does a cop end up the glorified blow-up doll for a mobster?”

Nasir blinked at him, slowly. “I have a tight grip on something I’m sure you’d be sad to lose and a knife in my hand, and you’re _insulting_ me right now? Seriously?”

Agron was trying to think of a counter argument, but was distracted by Nasir’s eyelashes, and the smell of his shampoo. Minus the knife and the death grip on his balls, he could honestly get used to this. Christ, his siblings were right. He did need to get laid.

“Look, bro, this is the most action I’ve had in about seven months, and I never was that adverse to knife play thanks to how many times a KA-BAR has saved my life, so unless you don’t want the both of us to be embarrassed, you’re going to let me go, and then, maybe, possibly, tell me what the _fuck_ is going on.”

“For a man who has been contracted to kill _me_ , you’re awfully demanding,” Nasir observed.

“No shit, Hariri. For a man who is supposed to be nothing but a college student who fell in with the wrong crowd, you have an awfully interesting background if one digs deep enough.”

“Most don’t,” Nasir said. “The war refugee family is usually a decent enough sell.” He stepped back, sheathing the knife in some place Agron couldn’t see. “It’s good to finally meet you in person, Agron Jansen. You look better with your hair grown out. High and tight is not the best style for your face.”

“Oh, so now you’re a hairdresser?” Agron asked. “What other talents do you have hidden in there? Let me guess, your hair is actually hiding the secrets of the universe.”

“The ribbon isn’t just for show,” Nasir said. 

As he took the time to study Agron, he did the same. Nasir was deceptively strong. The tailored shirts and trousers made him look almost delicate, but Agron had felt the press of solid muscle against him. He had the sort of fast, and instinctive, reflexes that only came with training. There was a stubborn set to his jaw, as if he’d been living so long based on sheer determination alone. Agron understood that, he really did. 

“Fuck, this is so beyond over-identifying with a target,” he mumbled. 

“At least I’m pretty,” Nasir said. “All your fellow tough Marines will surely understand.”

Agron snorted. “I think I detected some sarcasm there. Who knew you had such a smart mouth on you? It goes against your whole prim and proper image.”

“Oh, trust me, Crassus never kept me around for prim _or_ proper, but my mouth definitely had something to do with it.” He looked up at Agron then, all veil of seduction, and definition of temptation. 

Agron shook his head, not as impressed with the act as he was with the reality. “Yeah, I like you better with the anger. You get this little curl to your lips. It’s cute.”

Nasir grunted in frustration as he finally pushed away from Agron. “What the hell is actually wrong with you?”

Agron waved his hands in despair, throwing composure and patience so far behind him they could greet his ancestors. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe it could have something to do with going weeks on a job, doing recon, getting to know my target, who then somehow manages to break the contract that’s out on his life, I’m guessing by tapping my phone, and who is not at all what he seems. I have the mystery of that in front of me, plus the murder of some girl by the name of Chadara, and now I’m thinking that when Kore Lys went into hiding it had a lot less to do with Witness Protection from Crassus and more to do with his son. I’m suddenly being visited by the Ghost of Christmas Past in the form of a Navy SEAL I really cannot stand, while almost dislodging part of a federal consultant’s skull in their attempts to try and follow _you_.”

“I’m so sorry my attempts to not be contractually killed have inconvenienced _you_ ,” Nasir snarked back. He rolled his eyes. “Come on, we need to talk so you don’t fuck my job up any further and I’m hungry.”

Agron looked at him in confusion. 

Nasir rolled his eyes again and tilted his head to the sky before leveling his glare at Agron. “Look, it’s early, and I’d rather not have this conversation in an alley that smells of piss and vomit while you stand there gaping at me in slack-jawed confusion. I’ll even buy you pancakes, the blueberry kind just how you like ‘em.”

“You’ve been doing more than tapping my phone,” Agron said. 

Nasir scoffed. “I am _good_ at my job.”

*************************

The breakfast meetings became a standard thing between the two of them. Once Crassus was off into the Financial District continuing his conquest to becoming the richest criminal in the city, Nasir would send Agron a text with a street address. Agron had lived on and off in this city for most of his life, and he hadn’t heard of half of these diners or their amazing breakfast meals. Over the past week he’d learned that Nasir favored fruit syrup over maple, that he actually liked tea, not coffee, with his morning meal. He had speaking knowledge of seven languages, and reading knowledge of ten, though he preferred English for cursing just because of the fluid use of the word _fuck_. He tipped generously and always insisted on paying. Always with cash, never with credit, so as not to leave a physical paper trail. 

Agron didn’t know what Nasir wanted, though. It wasn’t like he lacked companionship, and his eyes remained too calculating for anything other than a plan.

“You can just ask, you know,” Agron said as he drizzled his stack of French toast in a river of syrup. “You don’t have to fatten me up like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

“You could use a few extra meals,” Nasir just said. He fiddled with the sugar packets as he glanced at the window. “Maybe I just like eating breakfast with a foul-mouthed Marine who has no table manners and gets more food on his shirt than his napkin.”

“You say the sweetest things to me, my darling munchkin.” Agron blew him a kiss for added measure, laughing under his breath when Nasir’s expression shifted from pleasantly annoyed to annihilation mode. 

“I hope you choke on your hash browns,” he hissed. He settled back into his seat and studied Agron from under his eyelashes. “I have a proposition for you.”

“I knew you were trying to buy my compliance through food,” Agron said.

Nasir shrugged, but didn’t deny the point. “Look, I file Crassus’ paperwork, and I handle his non-business accounts. I knew he took the hit out on me. It’s a game he plays, to test my skills. If I can catch the paper trail, I win.”

“And if you lose, you die,” Agron said. He put his fork down, suddenly not so hungry anymore. “I have a feeling I’m not going to like where this is going.”

Nasir nodded. “I’ve been in this cover for years, Agron. I’m tired of it. I don’t think I can hold it much longer. I have what I came here for, and you—you represent an opportunity. An excuse if you will; a justifiable reason for me to leave, to run for good.”

“Doesn’t Castus offer the same thing?” Agron asked.

Nasir smirked. “Oh, so jealous. It doesn’t matter. He hasn’t spent months now studying me, or vice-versa. Crassus is used to me using my _charms_ to get the hits dropped.”

Agron knew he was pouting. “I’m offended I never got that offer.”

“You needed food more than a quick fuck.”

“That’s debatable.”

Nasir’s laugh sounded startled. “Look, it can be arranged if it’ll get that sour look off your face.”

Agron sniffed. “I don’t like to be penciled in like some appointment. I have standards, Hariri.” He shifted in his seat, turned suddenly serious. The banter was easy, but Nasir could be risking both their lives. “How certain are you?”

“As positive as I can be. I have enough to convict Chadara’s murderer and put a dent in Crassus’ empire as a return payment for services rendered. I need a reason for the fallout, though. I’d rather the Kid Butcher think I’m leaving for a lover and not because I’m actual law enforcement. Crassus’ influence is child’s play compared to the Man in White. It’s not unheard of a younger lover to cheat; it’s a good cover. So, Agron, how do you feel about acts of public indecency?”

That was his cue to get the hell out of Dodge, and never look back. Agron hated to leave a job half-finished though, and Nasir was a cop who’d stuck himself in a shitty position to get a cop killer and a future mob boss. He ran a hand over his face as he talked himself out of his doubts. After all, He’d been trained for this shit like this. 

“Okay, fine,” he said. “Just watch the teeth and claws.”

Nasir smirked. “Nice try, asshole.” His gaze fluttered downwards. “We both know you like it.”

*********************

The metal of the bleachers felt cold though his jeans as he took his seat by Duro. He’d already missed the first inning, but he’d arrived in time for Amelia’s first at-bat. Diona and Georgie were both in the dugout, watching with their eagle-eyed views as the team’s coaches as if this was a playoff game between the Red Sox and the Yankees. 

“Christ, you need some sleep,” Duro said as he handed Agron a bag of trail mix. “Nasir keeping you up late then?”

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to talk about such things in the bleachers of a children’s softball game,” Agron grumbled. He ignored Duro’s pointed look as he tried to avoid all the raisins in the bag. “I’ve just been working, Duro. That’s all. There are things that don’t add up _still _. Nasir might still be lying, or playing me. I don’t think he is, but something is leaving an itch so deep in my veins it’s gone down to my bones. Hell, Spartacus might be playing me. I have no doubt Crixus would throw me to the wolves if his superiors allowed it.”__

__Duro leaned back and stretched out his foot to rock the baby in his carrier. “I knew Mom and Dad should’ve never let you read Sherlock Holmes as a kid. That and Edgar Allan Poe forever warped you and destroyed your sense of trust around people not blood or military family. Should’ve stuck with R.L. Stine instead.”_ _

__“Why? So that could make my current job seem _less_ creepy?” Agron asked. It didn’t bother him anymore, what he did. It was hard to explain to people who had never been in the military, even cops failed to understand the things war desensitized you too. It’s not that Agron didn’t feel, it’s just that his whole ideas and definitions of _normal_ , _horrifying_ , _safe_ , and _atrocious_ had changed with too many tour of duties. When you already knew people were the worst monsters in the world in simple business suits and a smile on their faces, it didn’t make Stephen King feel so scary. _ _

__“I think you’re terrified of normalcy,” Duro said with the tentative kindness he only adopted when serious._ _

__Agron looked at Amelia on the field, Lanie in the dugout as well, obvious in the bright pink Band-Aids across her scrapped cheeks. She was a scrapper, just like Duro. He thought of Milo at their feet and Ronan helping with the beverage stand. This was his family, his idea of normalcy, as the brother and uncle. He honestly panicked at the thought of having a life in suburbia like this, of growing bored, and then resentful of the person he _settled_ for. _ _

__“It’s a valid life choice you’ve got going on bro,” he said with a grin, “but it’s just not for me.”_ _

__“Asshole,” Duro said. He snatched the trail mix out of Agron’s hand only to replace it with a bag of buttery popcorn. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”_ _

__“Because I buy the best Christmas presents ever,” Agron said._ _

__************************ _ _

__The bonding over breakfast had changed to mutual meals taken any time of day when Nasir could shuffle loose Crassus’ controlling coil, and Agron could go on radio silence. It wasn’t complete privacy obviously, not with the multiple obvious federal agents following their every move, but they made do._ _

__“So, here’s a question,” Agron said as he waited for their slices of apple pie. “I understand dedication to a job, but how do you just let some asshole get his monogram engraved on the back of your neck?”_ _

__Nasir shrugged. “I forget about it most days. If my hair’s down and I’m out of Crassus’ reach, I don’t even know it’s there. It doesn’t have to stare me in the face. It’s not there for _me_ to look at. It’s a mark of ownership, a way for him to have power, and honestly a miniscule price to pay when doing so has held my cover and kept me alive. I’d rather be sitting across from you clogging my arteries up with grease and dairy, with a tattoo for Marcus fucking Crassus in my skin, than dead, dismembered and cast to the four winds. In the end, it’s no contest.” _ _

__They both fell silent as Sibyl delivered their dessert. She was a sweet, young girl, barely out of high school and working any job she could to get out of this city. Last week Agron had overheard a long discussion between her and Nasir over the image of the Mother Goddess through various cultures. It was a moment of surprised clarity about the both of them. Sibyl was far more than just a pretty face and for Nasir she was probably the closest thing he had to a friend outside of Crassus’ circle._ _

__“Did you catch that documentary I told you about?” Nasir asked._ _

__Sibyl nodded, eager smile with a face lit-up with the type of knowledge induced joy Agron was used to seeing on Georgie. “Thanks so much for telling me, Nasir. I would’ve missed it, but Marcia recorded it just in time.” She looked to Agron, then back to Nasir, and winked. “We’ll talk about it later.”_ _

__“I think she’s on to us,” Agron said after she walked off._ _

__Nasir shrugged. “Sibyl still believes in things like romance.”_ _

__Agron scoffed. “I can give you romance. I am a master of romance. An expert.”_ _

__“You’re a master of something, but I have a hard feeling it’s not romance,” Nasir muttered._ _

__Agron felt the scowl and didn’t fight it. He re-arranged his feet to accidentally on purpose and stomped on Nasir’s own._ _

__“These shoes are worth more than your life insurance policy,” Nasir hissed._ _

__Agron made a mental note to stumble Nasir’s shoes into the path of the wet reflective paint out on the street when they left. It was the only possible payback for that line._ _

__“So, tell me why,” Nasir said._ _

__“ _Ain’t nothing but a heartbreak?_ ” Agron quoted. _ _

__Nasir shook his head. “You’re showing your age there, formerly Sergeant Jansen. Let me guess, Kevin just did it for you. It was the eyebrows.”_ _

__Agron smirked. “I quoted a hit song, you actually know their names. Who is showing their age and preteen obsession again?” Nasir looked ready to throw his plate at Agron’s head, so he decided to play nice. “Why did I join the Marines or why did I make the transition into my current area of employment?”_ _

__“The Marines make sense to me. You seem like the type of guy who’d get off on mythos and brotherhood. I don’t get why you’d leave that,” Nasir admitted. “It’s a curiosity is all. For a Marine to turn from a belief system that’s so ingrained through training puzzles me.”_ _

__“I still have my own code,” Agron argued. “I usually only take the jobs against targets I know are horrible people who have done very shitty things.”_ _

__“So what horrible thing did I do?” Nasir asked, soft smile gone grim._ _

__It was almost as if the whole diner went quiet for Agron’s confession, at least it felt that way. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears as he thought over why. He knew even before he took the job, before he could even start to piece together the mystery he’d stumbled across, that it wasn’t going to be typical._ _

__“The money was really good. I can tell you that, and it would be true, but perhaps there’s more to it. I can sit here and tell both of us that I’ve become a jaded asshole who takes the highest paying job he can find to fatten the nest egg for his family. The truth is...I’m pretty sure I took it for my own way out. This job’s really more of a holding pattern. My options don’t exactly come with a 401k and an AARP card.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Nasir asked, the soft smile returning to his lips._ _

__Agron took a huge bite of his pie and tried to ignore how heavy the light crust felt in his mouth. He swallowed with some difficulty before he hunched his shoulders forward. “Yeah, I guess. Don’t look too much into it.”_ _

__“Never would,” Nasir vowed._ _

__************************ _ _

__Despite Nasir’s assurances that he had enough evidence to get Tiberius Crassus convicted for rape and murder, not just the assault charge he’d practically dodged earlier, Agron had to do his own investigation. After this job he probably should seek his Private Investigator license, but for now he was handling the way he always did._ _

__Nasir had smuggled a few copies of photographs and receipts out of the house and into Agron’s pockets whenever they crossed paths. Agron was starting to look forward to being tugged down dank alleyways and body checked against a wall as Nasir did his best octopus impression. For a compact man, he knew how to use his height and weight to his advantage. It was worth the crick he was starting to develop in his neck as they played up their supposedly scandalous affair for the likes of Laeta Grisolia to see._ _

__“I told you to contact the man, not try to inspect his tonsils with your tongue,” Spartacus admonished as they shared a lunch._ _

__“His idea,” Agron argued. He had openly shared his intel with Spartacus, not wanting Nasir’s years of work to get fucked over by federal bureaucracy that came with the likes of a joint-taskforce. The less all the players knew about Nasir, the safer he remained. Agron was sure at least half the agencies circling around Crassus like vultures had at least one team member who could be easily bought off. Hell, Agron had made it his job to identify those agents and exploit them for his own purposes._ _

__“How much of what’s happening is you trying to get a job done versus you falling for your mark?” Spartacus asked._ _

__It wasn’t an accusation; Spartacus had met Sura in similar circumstances. Agron knew there was no judgment coming from the other side of the table, just concern. Spartacus was a good man, and always had been to those he deemed worthy of respect._ _

__“Fifty-fifty,” Agron admitted. He slipped a memory card under his napkin and slid it over to Spartacus. “I’ll keep you updated.”_ _

__“You might not have to,” Spartacus said. He pocketed the card and slipped a piece of paper under Agron’s plate. He stayed silent as Agron studied the numbers written there before balling it up. Radio frequencies, which meant something big was about to go down. “We have enough evidence to take down one of Crassus’ soldiers, a young man by the name of Anthony Sabinus. Have you heard of him?”_ _

__“He’s Tiberius’ best friend. He grew up with the family,” Agron said. He shook his head in confusion. “Nasir’s never mentioned him outside of being a nice kid.”_ _

__“Well, that nice kid is about to pay for the sins of his company,” Spartacus said. “He should’ve made better friends.”_ _

__“When is this going down?” he asked._ _

__Spartacus checked his watch. “You have some time, if you want to tell Nasir to lay low. Oenomaus is running point. He wants you in your nest.”_ _

__“Understood,” Agron said with a mock salute._ _

__He took his time as he walked toward the park near Crassus’ house. This part of city was a high traffic area for delivery and utility vans, but the numbers of unmarked vans, and seemingly abandoned ones, was just ludicrous as Agron finally counted them. Crassus was about to get a perfect storm on his very doorstep. Agron supposed that’s what happened when you pissed off a man known as the Kid Butcher._ _

__“Hello, sailor,” Nasir called from the rotting gazebo._ _

__Agron flipped him off in greeting as he carefully maneuvered the broken steps. “You should tell Laeta to add this piece of shit’s restoration to her charity causes.”_ _

__“Already on her list,” Nasir said. He leaned into Agron as they brushed their lips together in greeting._ _

__Agron spotted at least three people watching them as he dropped his head to nuzzle at Nasir’s ear. “Who’re your friends?” he asked._ _

__“One is on the Crassus payroll, from Tiberius’ accounts. The little brat can’t wait to present his case against me to his father. I plan to have him gone before he gets a chance.”_ _

__“Why hasn’t he yet?” Agron asked._ _

__Nasir smirked. “I’m a very distracting man, or so I’ve been told. Besides, Crassus the Elder has much more to worry about than Tiberius’ little shit fits.” His fingers tickled at the skin of Agron’s hips as his cold hands sought warmth. “I noticed the street had a sudden population boom of unmarked vehicles. Something going down today?”_ _

__Agron told himself he was only leaning into Nasir’s touch for the assholes watching them. He absolutely didn’t think about the rasp of Nasir’s unshaven cheek against his neck, or the taste of his lips, or the little hitch of his breaths whenever Agron got away from himself and nipped at his skin. There were things they all did for the job, and Nasir had been living like this for years now._ _

__“After you leave here, just stay inside,” Agron ordered._ _

__“That bad?” Nasir asked._ _

__Agron pressed a quick kiss to Nasir’s forehead, pushing the loose locks of hair behind his ears as he did so. “Just stay inside,” he repeated. He jogged off before he said anything else. The one thing that would keep Nasir’s safe from Tiberius’ wrath right now was plausible deniability._ _

__Agron had that bad feeling in this stomach, the one he only got with IEDs and road mines. The one that told him shit was about to get much, much worse. He sent out a massive text message to his own family, telling them to stay put until he gave the _All Clear_. He took the long way to his base, going three blocks over and circling back, until he got inside. He grabbed an envelope that was slipped under the door; Aurelia’s handwriting, it was thick, possibly Chadara’s autopsy file then. He grabbed his rifle and a radio, before he headed for the roof. He settled down after he found the perfect spot, connected the radio and put in an ear bud. He found the radio frequency Spartacus had slipped him and prepared for the long wait as he listened to the chatter. There were at least five different agencies involved, two FBI teams, DEA, local PD, plus the joint task force Spartacus was on. Oenomaus was leading the mission, and it felt like a punch gut of nostalgia to hear the man’s authoritative voice smoothly sending out orders. _ _

__It was only when he spotted Nasir slipping into the Crassus’ house that he allowed himself to take a deep breath. It was the waiting game now; hours of surveillance would continue before definitive action was taken. They wanted to grab Sabinus with little fuss, but still where the cameras could catch them. Good press was always needed for the government, and calmly taking down someone with mob ties, as opposed to starting a shoot-out on the street, would make the bureaucrats in the big seats happy._ _

__Christ was Agron glad he was no longer paid to answer to such people._ _

__He tugged Aurelia’s folder from his jacket and pulled out a sheath of papers. Like he suspected, the full coroner’s report was inside. Chadara’s toxicology tests had shown high levels of Rohypnol. There were signs of rape, but the traces of spermicide found meant a condom was worn. No other DNA was found on the body, but among the many bruises and the abrasions around her throat, there was a distinct mark on her cheek. Agron squinted at the picture that showed a close-up of the bruise, there was an outline of an object there. The coroner’s notes claimed it appeared to be ring or small pendant which had a raised image of a boar on it. Perhaps like the image found in the supposed-Crassus family crest. A unique identifying mark that should’ve led to more than a simple slap on the fucking wrist when her body was found in Tiberius Crassus’ bed. Of course, money could buy the best defense, and fuck knew Marcus Crassus had enough of it._ _

__Agron really couldn’t blame Nasir for wanting to kill Tiberius. The little shit had it coming, but better to have it handled on the other side of the bars than out here. If Laeta Grisolia was the VIP Confidential Informant Spartacus played her up as, fuck, Tiberius might even have an _accident_ while in custody. _ _

__The sun was setting when the call finally came for everyone to get in position. Agron doubted he was the only one on a rooftop in case everything went to shit._ _

__Crixus’ team was leading the arrest. They were in plainclothes, Castus at the head of the group casually walking down the street, staggering just slightly as if full of too much beer and too little sense. Agron took a deep breath as the group approached Sabinus and Tiberius. They didn’t have an obvious escort, but a woman not five feet from them, oh so casually checking her cell phone, was obviously packing. Fortis had her easily, and quietly, subdued before she could alert her clients._ _

__Agron didn’t allow himself to relax, even though he knew it was unlikely he, or any sniper, would be needed for this job. Sabinus actually appeared to have a brain, and should’ve been smart enough to go quietly. He would never flip on the family, not when he knew death was a certainty, but cooperation still existed as some form of currency, and that kid needed all the credit he could get._ _

__He heard Castus call out Sabinus’ name over the comms, everything going as planned. Low chatter on the radio was an encouraging white noise as Sabinus was offered the choice to come quietly or be forcibly moved to the waiting car. A slight nod, murmur too low for Agron to make it out, (he never was much of a lip reader), and Sabinus didn’t resist._ _

__It was the perfect moment for all hell to break loose, so of course it did. Agron’s combat time kept him from flinching in surprise at the sound of sudden gun fire; small caliber, easily concealed. He watched in shock as Tiberius went down, clutching his chest. A dark hooded figure disappeared back into the alley, small in stature, hat pulled down low over their head, and from his vantage point Agron couldn’t see more. He pulled back from his scope and looked around the other rooftops and buildings, trying to spot where Crixus might’ve positioned Naevia and Barca._ _

__“Who took that shot?” Oenomaus demanded through the earpiece. “Everyone stand down,” followed that order._ _

__Sabinus was pinned to the ground, Crixus’ knee between his shoulder blades, as his terrified voice carried his shouts of Tiberius’ name. Agron had heard the sound of cries like that too often in his life, the last desperate pleas for someone who was already dead._ _

__“Fuck,” Agron muttered as he pulled back from the ledge and listened to the various teams sounding off._ _

__********************* _ _

__Agron had five hours of debriefings to deal with after the fact. From Oenomaus, to Crixus, to Spartacus, he had to sign sworn depositions that he had zero fucking clue who Tiberius' killer was. Whoever did it knew how to stay hidden, and sure, he had his suspicions, but he couldn’t make a positive id. He had a feeling someone, by which he meant Crixus, was going to try and make an example of him anyway, at least for the papers. It would like better to shovel blame on him than on how the man’s own team had fumbled the ball._ _

__“So why do I have a feeling you’re involved with this evening’s top news headlines?” Georgie tiredly mumbled over the phone._ _

__Agron softly laughed as he carefully maneuvered the now dark and subdued streets. “I was only on the sidelines, I promise. I was the back-up for the back-up. Apparently they could’ve used more boots on the ground.”_ _

__“I don’t think the world is going to exactly mourn _that_ particular loss,” Georgie muttered. _ _

__Agron didn’t disagree, but that wasn’t how the justice system exactly worked. “They still have to find the killer.”_ _

__“So they don’t know?” she asked. “Wow, that’s so reassuring. Considering the amount of money tax-payers sink into the system, you’d think they could do a better job.”_ _

__“Careful there, Georgie, you’re trying to become _one of them _,” he warned. He took a deep breath as he spotted a familiar head through the window of the diner in front of him. “I’ve gotta go.”___ _

____She sighed in response. “Don’t get your stupid ass killed. I refuse to ruin my eyeliner by weeping at your funeral.”_ _ _ _

____“Duro will mourn enough for the both of you,” he teased as he hung up. He quietly slipped into the diner, catching the bell on the door before it could ring._ _ _ _

____Nasir looked green under his smooth skin. His hair was messily piled on to the top of his head, his clothes wrinkled as he charmed Sibyl, who was working the counter. He kept his eyes downcast, but Agron knew he’d been spotted by the straightening of Nasir’s spine. He didn’t say anything as he slid to the side as Agron ordered a coffee to go._ _ _ _

____Sibyl looked between the two of them in confusion, but wisely kept her opinions to herself._ _ _ _

____“Did you kill him?” Agron asked as he leaned over Nasir to grab a handful of napkins from the counter._ _ _ _

____“If I did, he’d be wearing a Columbian necktie and missing a certain part of his genitalia,” Nasir informed him with a pleasant smile. He slipped a twenty dollar bill in the tip jar as he took his fancy tea and a multigrain croissant and headed toward a booth._ _ _ _

____“You know who did though,” Agron said as he followed with his simple cup of black tar._ _ _ _

____Nasir’s lips thinned. “And that person had every right.” He finally looked up at Agron. “Just leave it, Agron. It doesn’t involve you.”_ _ _ _

____Agron frowned. “Was this part of the plan all along? You dig into my own file, see my connections, and help lead us all to Sabinus to lure Tiberius out into the open air, get him to drop his guard while his best bud ever is taken down?”_ _ _ _

____Nasir rolled his eyes. “You think _far_ too highly of yourself. If I had my way, Tiberius would be rotting away in a cell for life, but I can’t say I’m going to weep over the current results. You still serve your purpose of covering my ass in terms of Crassus, so don’t think this is over yet.” _ _ _ _

____Agron was ready to make a truly filthy comment, but he looked up to see Crixus waving at him from the street. The night just kept getting better. “I’ve got to go.”_ _ _ _

____“I’ll see you for lunch later, then?” Nasir asked._ _ _ _

____“I doubt it,” Agron said._ _ _ _

____“Long meeting?” Nasir asked in an odd tone. If Agron didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn Nasir looked concerned._ _ _ _

____“Hopefully there won’t be a trip to Leavenworth in my future,” is all he said. He leaned down quick to steal a kiss, one last momento, before he gripped Nasir’s shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Hariri.”_ _ _ _

____He didn’t look back as he headed out the door to the waiting arms of Crixus and his smug smile of the avenged._ _ _ _

____“If you try to cuff me, I will punch you just so I can get something out of this,” Agron warned._ _ _ _

____Crixus shook his head, and then grinned like a shark. “Oenomaus just wants to talk, introduce you to some of our friends in the U.S. Marshal office, and talk about some Witness Protection.”_ _ _ _

____********************** _ _ _ _

____A whole fucking week passed as Agron was shuffled around by Oenomaus from various agency field offices to field offices, talking himself raw, before he was allowed back home. Spartacus was playing current babysitter as they packed up Agron’s apartment._ _ _ _

____“I thought you should know an anonymous tipster dropped a stack of evidence off at the local precinct. You’re named as an investigator who was hired to work the job, under the guise of a contract killer. If you check your bank account, and that of your team, family included, I’m sure they’re all at least two thousand dollars richer,” Spartacus said. “It’s almost as if someone thought you were going to be convicted of something.” He’d not been pleased when Agron had shared his Leavenworth joke, and there had been lectures about subjecting innocent minds to Agron’s sense of humor._ _ _ _

____“Instead of paying me for the contract kill, everyone got paid their due for their work,” Agron said. “How very Robin Hood of Nasir.” He paused in his packing to look at the hustle of people passing below his windows, more concerned about getting their clothes wet than any mob takedown and its repercussions. “Have you heard from him?”_ _ _ _

____“He was last sighted at the airport with Laeta Grisolia as she took the youngest of the Crassus children on a vacation. As the godmother, and legal guardian as appointed through Marcus Crassus’ late wife, she’s allowed.”_ _ _ _

____Agron nodded. He didn’t expect much, but a goodbye text would’ve been nice at least. “Any advice?” he asked Spartacus._ _ _ _

____“Get out of town to clear your head. We're going to take Crassus down, and you don’t need to be around for that shit. We have enough to hold him for seventy-two hours at the most, but after that he’s going to come after you. He might even jump the gun and do it before we snatch him. I’m sure he has friends in the District Attorney’s office, which could explain why our warrants are taking so long. Either way, Crixus let the surveillance pictures of you and Nasir leak in order to protect any possible connection to his other undercover agents. If Crassus didn’t have a clue before, he certainly does now.”_ _ _ _

____“Why protect the contracted killer when you can protect the co-workers and confidential informants?” Agron muttered._ _ _ _

____“It’s how the system works,” Spartacus agreed. “It just adds more fuel to the fire Nasir already planned to start with his destruction of Tiberius. Agron, take care of your base, and your people, and then get out before some piece of shit still loyal to Crassus can crawl out of the dirt and snatch you for some bullshit loyalty test. Diona, Duro, and the kids will have a protective detail on them, and Georgie’s got a new job a long ways away. I’d suggest you visit her, when you get the chance.”_ _ _ _

____“But where am I going first?” Agron asked._ _ _ _

____Spartacus smirked. “I hear Vermont’s lovely this time of year. I know an inn run by a former agent. They have really great scones.”_ _ _ _

____Agron should’ve known he wouldn’t have been able to completely avoid Gannicus on this job._ _ _ _

____“How goes the search for Tiberius’ killer?” he asked. It was one of those little tidbits Oenomaus had declared a complete intel blackout on._ _ _ _

____Spartacus shrugged. “There’s no hard proof, but Sura’s guess is that Kore Lesy was probably involved. _Someone_ sent Sura the unsealed file of her testimony and Kore bore similar bruising and scars to that of Chadara.” Spartacus wrote a whole inventory worth of contents on the box he’d just taped up and shook his head. “Damndest thing, someone contacting Lesy in Witsec to tell her when we planned a takedown. I wonder how that could’ve happened.”_ _ _ _

____“Isn’t life just a fucking mystery,” Agron said before Spartacus could subject him to any more pep talks._ _ _ _

____********************** _ _ _ _

____Agron would be sad to torch this base. It was a nice, old building with a sold design, but if Crassus got wind of Aurelia’s and Mira’s assistance with finally bringing down his empire, there would be nine different levels of Hell to pay. He instinctually trusted Nasir enough to take care of things on his end, to erase any possible trace of Agron’s team as one last favor. Still, better safe than sorry._ _ _ _

____He was just getting ready to drop the match when a muffled sound came from outside the door. Agron cursed and carefully followed the path to the door, stepping lightly in the cloth-covered booties around his street shoes. He made sure all the squatters had been cleared from the building twenty minutes ago. No one else should’ve been around. He only had a knife on him, not stupid enough to take live ammo to a place full of flammable objects. He almost laughed in surprise at the familiar figure at the top of the stairs._ _ _ _

____“You’re here,” Agron said._ _ _ _

____Nasir nodded. He had on black gloves similar to Agron’s own, though his shoes weren’t protected. “Spartacus told me you’d be here.” He looked around with a wrinkled nose. “We need to discuss your taste in buildings one day. I’m glad I volunteered to lend some leads to the eventual arson investigation now.” He deliberately stomped his foot on the floor, a slight squish following it._ _ _ _

____“Is that Vaseline?” Agron asked._ _ _ _

____Nasir nodded. “And Crassus’ shoes, personally designed just for him. Alonso was only too kind enough to lend them into my care when we were in Milan. I’ve had a hell of a time breaking them in over the past week. Fucker may have height on me, but we still have the same size feet. I’ve left some obvious prints to and from his place as well. If one of the cars conveniently left outside with its tires slashed and dented as if part of a scuffle with a man about your size has its VIN number traced, a certain mobster will come up. There may be some high velocity blood splatter in the alley matching your DNA with a tire iron that will lead back to Crassus since he must brand everything he owns. They’ll probably see it for the frame job it is, but I’ll still live to make that bastard’s life hell before we go into Witness Protection.”_ _ _ _

____“We?” Agron asked._ _ _ _

____“We,” Nasir repeated._ _ _ _

____“And how did you get enough of my blood to recreate arterial spray?” Agron asked._ _ _ _

____Nasir shrugged. “I believe your friend Donar took a sample when you went in for questioning.” He gestured toward the matches in Agron’s hand. “Really? That’s a little simplistic.”_ _ _ _

____“I’m sorry, do you have a flamethrower in your back pocket?” Agron asked._ _ _ _

____“No, but I do have one of these fancy engraved personalized lighters. It’s such a damn shame when they leak their butane all over the place. I suggest we wait until we’re near a street, because I may have gotten a little liberal with the ether.”_ _ _ _

____“I didn’t plan on torching the stairs, just the office,” Agron said._ _ _ _

____Nasir shrugged. “The fire department already has an anonymous tip from the Feds to not even try and diffuse the fire. There’s a fire marshal on a stake-out ready to call in a unit if it looks like the fire will spread.”_ _ _ _

____“Thought of everything, didn’t you?” Agron asked._ _ _ _

____“It’s what I do,” Nasir said._ _ _ _

____Agron had never seen anyone so casually set a building on fire, and that included his tours of duty in two war zones._ _ _ _

____“You’re honestly a scary motherfucker, you know that?” he asked as Nasir leaned against him in the street and pulled on a pair of Chuck Taylors._ _ _ _

____“Oh, Agron, you don’t have to fail-flirt anymore. I’m pretty much a sure thing at this point,” Nasir said. He waved to a non-descript car and elbowed Agron to follow. “Give Lydon a nice smile.”_ _ _ _

____“Seriously, fucking terrifying,” Agron repeated. “I think your years with the mob have warped you.”_ _ _ _

____“Clearly you didn’t read enough of my psych evaluations before Chadara was murdered,” Nasir said._ _ _ _

____He grabbed Agron’s hand and guided them down the backstreets, following a path only he knew until they were near the highway, a Dunkin Donuts on one side and a 7-11 on the other. Agron spotted Gannicus leaning on a truck, a Slurpee in his hand as he fiddled with his cell phone._ _ _ _

____“This is where we say goodbye for now,” Nasir said. “You’re going to Vermont for a bit. I’ve got a promise to Laeta to keep, and we’ll always have the gazebo, but it won’t be too long.”_ _ _ _

____“You sound awfully certain for a man who, not even half a month ago, was posing as a fuck buddy for a mobster,” Agron said._ _ _ _

____“I wasn’t _posing_ ,” Nasir clarified. He pulled Agron down for a deep kiss before slapping his ass and backing away. “See you around, Jarhead.”_ _ _ _

____Agron just stared after him and the town car that had suddenly appeared to whisk him away._ _ _ _

____“I like him; he’s got moxie,” Gannicus yelled from across the street. “Come over here you, asshole. Your drink’s melting and I’ve got apples to pick in the morning.”_ _ _ _

____******************** _ _ _ _

____Two months in Vermont helping Gannicus run his bed-and-breakfast and now, finally, Agron was in the second-to-last stage of being fucked around the country by the U.S. Marshals. One last safe house before a final spot, Spartacus had _promised_ this time, with Sura backing up the vow. _ _ _ _

____“Since when do the CIA and FBI willingly share safe houses?” Agron asked as he closed the front door with his foot. He was dressed in all black, a fun thing to wear in Maui’s heat, but Deputy Marshal Saxa was insistent._ _ _ _

____“Probably since the CIA has decided to bury its domestic ops in taskforces run by men and women who don’t exist,” Nasir answered from his place on the ratty couch. “Aren’t you just a black sheep?”_ _ _ _

____“Baa baa,” Agron answered. Nasir looked good. Tan, even for him, with his hair cut in a shorter style that allowed the ends to curl around his face. He spotted a bit of what looked like gauze and tape on Nasir’s neck and guessed that he’d either had Crassus’ mark covered up, or was in the process of getting it removed. “How long are they keeping you here?”_ _ _ _

____“Until our final house is ready in Oahu. Hawaii is about as far as we can get and still be in the United States, plus it’s home for me. I’m surprised you were willing to come this far out.”_ _ _ _

____Agron dropped his bag to the floor and paced the living room as he guessed the place of hidden cameras and bugs. “Georgina got a job working for JPAC. My little sister is all grown-up and using her scientific brain as Navy civilian personnel.”_ _ _ _

____“You must be proud of her,” Nasir said._ _ _ _

____“Ecstatic,” he agreed. He finally settled in a recliner across from Nasir. “So where are they?”_ _ _ _

____“No bugs, just cameras,” Nasir said without elaboration. He nodded to a small mantle clock and then stretched his arms up pointing to a truly atrocious painting of pineapples and coconut trees. “This is the only room with a television, an actual landline, and a computer, so apparently they decided to leave the rest of the house alone.”_ _ _ _

____“They did confiscate my laptop and phone. I’d like to see the agent’s face the first time Duro calls and I don’t answer. He doesn’t like the feds all that much.”_ _ _ _

____Nasir widened his eyes in an impressive display of mock-filled awe. “I can’t imagine who could’ve helped him form such an opinion.”_ _ _ _

____“Hardly my fault that every agent I’ve met has been a devious bastard.” Agron slid forward, meeting Nasir halfway across the gap that separated them and smiled into the kiss that would surely give the boys and girls in the suits something to talk about._ _ _ _

____“You know, I always did wonder what you’d look like sprawled across my bed,” Nasir said. “Think we can negotiate making that an actuality?”_ _ _ _

____Agron laughed into their next deep kiss. “Oh, you know I love it when you talk business,” he murmured as he stood, pulling Nasir up with him._ _ _ _

____******************* _ _ _ _

____The take-down of Marcus Crassus was a truly brilliant thing. He wasn’t killed in the crowd, in the middle of a street, where it would headline news for days to come. No one wanted a Valentine’s Day Massacre redux. It was done quietly, without knife, or gun, or glory. A simple animal-based toxin in a cup of Turkish coffee. The man always had that one vice, and anyone who worked with him for a week would’ve known that habit. They never could prove who slipped the venom into his drink. Whoever purchased it did so in cash, and no one was really looking too hard to figure out motive or perpetuator. There were too many options and not enough resources._ _ _ _

____No matter how he tried to work it out of him, Nasir would never give up the name, but he didn’t deny it when Agron guessed Laeta. It was her final vengeance for the step-daughter she never had the chance to really meet._ _ _ _

____Agron dug his toes into the sand as he watched Duro, Diona, and the kids tackle each other in the water lapping on the shore. Oenomaus had really, truly bent any semblance of the Witsec rules for him, but Agron had spent enough years without his family. Besides, it was pure coincidence they won a vacation that just happened to put them up in a house on the same street where Agron, Nasir, and Georgie lived._ _ _ _

____He jumped when an ice cold glass was pressed into his back and looked up into Nasir’s grinning face. He held his arm out and tugged Nasir down next to him, contorting his body until he could rest his head on Nasir’s shoulder._ _ _ _

____“I’m really glad I didn’t take the shot at you when I had the chance,” Agron said._ _ _ _

____Nasir’s startled laugh was loud enough to wake the dead. “I love you too,” he said before he pressed a kiss into Agron’s hair._ _ _ _


End file.
